


Faces

by WishfullyThinking



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom
Genre: Creepypasta, Death, Hallucinations, Mercenaries, Veterans, oc creepypasta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 21:23:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1164678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WishfullyThinking/pseuds/WishfullyThinking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>OC Creepypasta for /x/ board on 4chan. Rolled: 00, Trapped Forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faces

 

I've seen horrors, but none such as these. I'm ex-military, having done my tour in Afghanistan a number of years ago. The faces of my men are obscure now... But the faces of my victims are burned into my corneas. I've been trying to close my eyes, but each time I manage it I find a whole new world of horror awaiting me.

After my tour, I went back to America to try and reclaim my life. Contrary to the heart-wrenching videos of soldiers coming back to their families and loyal girlfriends, I had nothing of the sort. I had no parents; my mother having died at childbirth and my father during his own tour. I grew up with my grandparents, who died not long after I enlisted myself. I had almost counted on being killed while out there, almost hoping for it. But a bullet never hit me in the vitals , neither a blade either. I was in a pitiable state, surviving on pension alone, wandering about nightclubs and bars for another drink or five. It was no surprise I got kicked out multiple times, at some points I would fight back because of my training. Police were called, I would stay overnight at the county jail, then I may or may not have been sued for breaking the bouncer's arms. My lawyer came up with some bullshit claim of me having PTSD and that the rough treatment caused me to go back to the battlefront and act accordingly. I was let off with a fine, some community service, and a weekly appointment with a head-shrinker. I had no choice but to comply, but thank the almighty god that it was only for a few months. But I still would have taken that over what is happening now.

I met a man one day, I'm not exactly sure where or why. The details escaped me, but he said he had a job for me that paid well and that involved my military training. Living in a shitty apartment  in a backwater town, I immediately accepted. Besides, I missed the action, the adrenaline pumping through my veins. I had a group with me, at least twelve men, all veterans of something. A few were out of the country, but that only added to the excitement. We were shuttled from place to place, paid to kill groups that our employer rivalled with or didn't particularly like. I did not ask any questions, did not flinch when I killed men, women, and children. I rationalized them, thinking the kids were teenagers, that life wasn't much to look forward to. That they were selfish to want anything more than what they had already experienced. That would be my downfall.

Our group was abruptly disassembled, perhaps our boss couldn't pay us anymore or maybe he simply didn't have any more work for us, but at long last the ride was over. I took my share and decided to find a nice place to settle down. My luck had seemed to be better than ever. I had a nice house, a good car, an easy job, and I managed to catch the eye of an eight out of ten girl. My life seemed to be better than ever.

Until I woke up here.

One night I said goodnight to my girlfriend over the phone, chickening out of saying I loved her before I fell asleep. When I awoke, I was no longer in my comfortable house, but thrust into a dark prison. For a few days I screamed, clawing at the walls until my fingers were bloody, my nails filed down to the tips. I couldn't find a door anywhere, it was just a cement box, at least eleven feet wide in each directon and eleven feet tall. There wasn't any sort of furniture or blankets, nothing to be used as tools. I only survived for so long by lapping the condensation from the walls until my tongue was raw. Each day I would fall asleep and wake up, exploring the room for any changes, until I found food underfoot. I deduced that I would wait all night to catch this person keeping me prisoner. They obviously wanted me alive.

That night I pretended to fall asleep, mimicking the breathing pattern as closely as possible. They came around four or five AM, it was impossible to tell. There was the sound of metal moving above, the barest minimum of light creeping in. I squinted, trying to make out my captor, which was my biggest mistake of all.

It was a woman, barely an adult. She had auburn hair and deathly pale skin. Blood trickled from her orifices, leaking from the rags of jeans she wore. The smell was rancid like putrid meat and she didn't look any better neither. Perhaps she was once pretty, but it was impossible to say now. Her jaw was broken out of place, her lips parted as if she was always on the verge of saying something. Her eyes were bugged and red, her pupils filmed with grey and speckled with dust, as if she had lost the ability to blink. Her nose was broken, blood having dried on her lips long ago which was now a crust. She was missing many fingers, only allowed enough to grasp the plate she held as she set food on the stone floor. She tottered uneasily on her awkward legs, turning towards me, catching my eye. She let out an chilling, ungodly shriek which left my ears ringing long after, and scrambled back up the opening at the top. I jumped to my feet but the jump was far to high for me. The opening closed with a dull thud.

Then it hit me-- I remembered that woman. Her family was one my group and I had murdered, myself having been the one to kill her. She had fought dirty, and I resorted to the worst methods I could think of before ending her. Horror washed through my body.

It has been days now. She seemed to have learned to not go down here anymore, instead throwing the food down. The room is hot, no water dripping of the walls anymore. The room is breathing now, I can hear it. I can hear a heart-beat thudding in the room, not my own. I see her face in the corner of the room, her dead eyes. Faces join her, a horde of dead victims, not only from my mercenary days but from Afghanistan too. My fellow soldiers, civilians, enemies. They stare at me with furious hunger, but stay stock-still, waiting. That's why she had fed me-- trying to fatten me up for their feast. But I refuse to eat, letting the food rot down here with me. They do not attack, their faces only curl into grotesque smiles. I can hear them, saying I'll give in. I demand and plead to be set free. Exhausting into a heap on the floor, for the first time choked by sobs. 

You're only reading this because I have wrote it on the walls with the blood from my veins. I refuse to leave this planet, this hell without telling my story. If you read this, whether you happen along this tomb or you've been captured as well, god bless you and I pray you do not experience the horrors I've seen and wrought on these people.


End file.
